


Refrains and Angel Wings

by RedJuliet (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Guitar, M/M, POV change Dean and Castiel, Work In Progress, Writer, canon verse as novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/RedJuliet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a writer. Not a particularly well-known one but then again, writing is hard. His new downstairs neighbor is apparently a guitar player, and sings fairly well. It ends up being nice background music, but he never assumed the musician would end up being anything more for him. Now his life is all kinds of complicated and writing is hardly the most difficult thing he has to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stranger at the Club

**Author's Note:**

> My first Supernatural fanfiction and it happens to be an AU. Decided to put this up after hitting 100 followers on Tumblr, because the Spn family is the best fandom I've had the pleasure of being a part of. No beta but I am looking for one.

Castiel had long since come to the realization that writing was a misunderstood profession. Very few people realized just how difficult it was. To find the exact word, the proper phrasing—to follow the rules of grammar while trying to live in the head of a character and still relate to an audience—it wasn’t easy. 

For example, use the same pronoun too many times and the reader gets confused. Pick the wrong word and you put off an intended audience. (Just because recalcitrant sounds interesting doesn’t mean everyone will understand what it means.) 

It was a difficult profession, but oddly rewarding in its own right. And Castiel was fairly used to it now. His family did not understand why he chose to become a writer rather than enter into the police force as most of his siblings had done. Most of them except for Gabriel, who chose to break away and enter into the field of directing. Perhaps that was why Castiel felt so close to him, their respective careers were artistically similar. 

Besides, writing allowed him to stay at home and work in relative comfort on his own schedule. It certainly wasn’t for everyone; he hardly saw other people and didn’t even know his own neighbors. But he found he enjoyed observing others far more than striking up conversation. His own life, as opposed to his character’s, was comparatively boring. 

He didn’t always get to work on his novel, because novels didn’t pay rent. It was internet work and the articles that brought the money. It was boring work that didn’t require much creativity, but he excelled in the simple practicality of it and had a knack for filling the requirements to precision even if he lacked a certain passion for the material. His works of fiction weren’t as popular. Mostly he collected rejection letters and kept them stored in a shoebox underneath his bed. Success, he had come to realize, couldn’t be judged on whether or not it was published.

It was ten at night and he was seated at his desk like always when he heard the knock at the door to his apartment. He frowned, glancing at the document with his half-finished sentence. Leaving it as it was would mean he would forget what he was going for in the first place.

Another, more demanding knock. Louder this time. 

“Cassy! I know you’re in there, bro.” An annoyed huff came from the other side of the door and Castiel debated leaving him for a few minutes to finish his sentence. But the slam on the door and the jiggling of the doorknob was too distracting to ignore. And the longer he left Gabriel unanswered the more creative his brother would get in order to gain his attention. Sometimes he wondered how that happened to be his _older_ brother. 

“I’m coming,” He sighed and stood from the chair to make the four steps to the door. It was a small, one-bedroom apartment without much room to maneuver around in. He didn’t have many pieces of furniture but it was still tight. Gabriel called it cramped, but he called it cozy. 

“Finally! What were you doing in there, beating one off?” Gabriel crossed his arms petulantly over his chest, ignoring the grimace of distaste from Castiel. He slipped underneath his brother’s arm and inside as if it were his own home. 

“I’d appreciate it if you kept your vulgarities to yourself, Gabriel. I do have neighbors and I’m sure they don’t enjoy your loud behavior.” Most of his neighbors probably didn’t care. The majority of them were students that could be just as loud. 

“I wouldn’t have to be so loud if you’d just answer your door. Or your phone. I’ve been calling for hours.” The shorter man threw himself on the couch and sprawled out, “And you’re not dressed. Why aren’t you dressed?” 

“Dressed for what?” Castiel looked around the room for his phone, surprised he hadn’t heard the ringing until he realized he had turned it on silent. He always put it on silent while he was working. 

Thirteen new messages and six missed calls. Gabriel didn’t look impressed, hopping off the couch and moving to plunder the closet for something appropriate. 

“What’s the point of having a phone if you never use it? We’re going out tonight! I told you last week you’re getting out of this tiny shoebox of an apartment to enjoy the weekend for once. So we’re going out, having a few drinks, meeting a few people and you are not—for once—going to be sullen and reclusive.” 

“I’m not—”

“You spend far too much time with your computer and not enough time in the real world. You’re a writer aren’t you?” without giving Castiel a chance to answer, Gabriel cut him off a second time. “You should be out there observing people, making notes, or for once in your life letting loose.” 

“I don’t need to ‘let loose’, Gabriel. I’m perfectly content here.”

“Perfectly content—aren’t you supposed to be drowning in alcohol? Isn’t that one of the perks of being a writer?” There was a sharp exclamation from the closet as Gabriel emerged, holding out a blue button down shirt and a pair of jeans Castiel didn’t even realize he had. They looked new, never worn, sitting in the back of his closet and abandoned. 

“This’ll have to do. Your wardrobe needs some serious work. Here, put these on, go on now.” He shoved them into Castiel’s hands impatiently. 

Resigned, Castiel headed to the bathroom to replace the clothing he was already wearing that seemed perfectly acceptable. He had a habit of wearing a few garments repeatedly, without much variation. Button downs and dress pants, sweaters and an old trench coat that had been around for ages. It was comfortable, it was familiar. 

When he returned from the bathroom Gabriel looked him up and down, seemingly thinking over his choices and eventually nodding to himself. His brother was dressed ridiculously himself, wearing gold pants. Somehow, he seemed to pull it off with complete confidence. 

“It’ll have to do. Now put on your shoes and grab your coat, we’re leaving.” Gabriel moved to the living room impatiently, waiting for Castiel as if he was the one taking an extraordinarily long time to get ready. 

“This club isn’t likely to be somewhere I can find ‘a good time’.” Castiel threw up the air quotes, looking slightly annoyed with Gabriel’s poor choice. It would be full of scantily dressed people all pressed against one another and loud, unpleasant music. The kind Castiel did not recognize. 

“We’ll see. Now come on, hurry up.” Gabriel already had the door open while Castiel was still pulling on his coat and something about his unusual eagerness set Castiel on edge. 

 

The club turned out to be a nightmare wrapped in neon lights, loud music, and tightly-packed people on the dance floor. He didn’t know what Gabriel assumed he would find here for his writing, as it was too loud to listen to anyone talking and too dark to see anyone properly. 

“Now c’mon, let’s get a drink and blend in.” Gabriel seemed unaffected by Castiel’s stiff posture and uncomfortable expression, hand moving to forcibly drag him away from his spot on the floor towards the bar. 

“This hardly seems like a place I would enjoy.” Castiel muttered, sure that Gabriel had chosen this place to tease him because it didn’t make any sense to come here for any kind of pleasure. He was sure his brother knew him better than this. 

“Relax. Pushed right out of the nest, and you have to learn to fly for yourself. No point in starting small.” Gabriel ordered something that Castiel didn’t quite catch before he led the way back to a table, forced him to sit down and set the drink in front of him. 

“Try it. It’ll help you relax, and you really need to relax right now.” 

Castiel looked down to the drink, back up and then down again before taking it into his hand and drinking it like one might a glass of water. 

Gabriel actually whistled, and Castiel quickly pulled the glass away when the burn set in, settling warm in his stomach and down the back of his throat. It tasted awful. 

A few more of those drinks, a couple shots and he felt warm and relaxed. The atmosphere didn’t grate on him as much, though the music was still too loud. When he realized Gabriel had gone off at some point instead of using the bathroom like he had said, it left him mildly agitated. He had moved to the bar since he felt strange holding a table all by himself and debated just calling a cab and going home. After his last drink then. 

But instead of pulling out the bills to pay, he found a stranger at the bar next to him saying something to him he didn’t quite catch. 

“Sorry?” He turned to look at the man that was leaning over, grinning and gesturing to the bartender. The guy looked relaxed and confident, with a smile that caused little crinkles to form in the corner of his eyes. Castiel found himself staring. He _usually_ found himself staring, and it tended to put some people off, though it was really just a habit he had picked up. This stranger didn’t flinch or look away but stared back, easy and confident as ever. 

“I said can I buy you a drink? You look a little out of place, man.” The stranger repeated, and Castiel nodded mutely. 

“I suppose. Thank you.” He looked surprised that a man like this would choose him of all people to buy a drink. Didn’t you usually do something of that nature when you were interested? He had never had a stranger offer before, usually his brother or Balthazar bought the drinks, but never a stranger. 

“So, you really don’t look like you frequent places like this. Got a reason for being here tonight?” The guy took a drink of his own beer and Castiel glanced down at the glass that the bartender set before him before following suit. 

“My brother brought me out, he said I needed to get out more and that it wasn’t right for a man to sit at home over the weekend.” 

The stranger looked around, then back to Castiel and raised a brow. “I guess he disappeared on you, huh?” 

“Gabriel tends to do that. Usually when he finds attractive company to spend the night with. I was about to leave.” 

“Oh,” the guy looked almost disappointed, and Castiel tipped his head to the side in confusion. “I guess I’m keeping you then? Kinda thought you might want some company.” He shrugged, biting his lower lip and Castiel found his gaze drawn there as he did so. 

“Why?” Castiel looked honestly confused as if he couldn’t understand why this man would want to talk to him. It wasn’t as if he was interesting, and he didn’t think he gave off any kind of intriguing vibe. 

The guy looked sheepish, eyes darting to Castiel before taking another swig. He lost some of the ease and confidence he had before, looking slightly uncomfortable now as if he had made some kind of mistake. 

“Sorry, thought you might…y’know…uh, nevermind.” Castiel didn’t know exactly what the stranger was going to say, had no idea why the atmosphere was suddenly so awkward between them. The man looked like he was about to bolt. 

Castiel studied him. Those eyes reminded him of a trip down south once with his brothers. They were a specific kind of green in the low lighting of the bar. The color of Spanish moss in the southern sun, he remarked idly, and promptly realized it was a very good thing this man couldn’t hear such thoughts. He often found himself thinking in the same language he wrote with, and it was hardly appropriate for a stranger. 

“I don’t mind the company,” He added. “It’s preferable to drinking alone. The women keep asking me if I want to dance and showing off their cleavage and I don’t think they appreciate my telling them I’m not interested.” The stranger laughed and Castiel decided he rather liked the way the man laughed, liked the sound of it and the way he tilted his head back. The awkward tension between them eased somewhat. 

“You’re at a nightclub, that’s kind of what’s going to happen.” The man shook his head, setting his empty beer down on the bar. “I’m Dean, by the way. Just so you know who bought your drink, I don’t do it for strangers, but knowing a name is a different game entirely.” 

“Castiel,” he answered. He had the odd sensation that the way Dean was leaning towards him and lowering his voice was a way of flirting. The idea that a complete stranger would be flirting with him was mildly surprising. He had been told he was handsome but he never really came off as approachable.

“Cas…Castiel? That’s a new one.” Dean looked somewhat amused with the name. It wasn’t the first time he received such a reaction, nearly everyone thought his name was strange. Castiel shrugged and Dean grinned again. 

“I like it, easy to remember. Now that we’re not strangers I don’t have to feel weird about buying you a drink.” Dean relaxed, set his beer aside and ordered another. He looked tentatively over at Castiel, silently questioning whether he would stay or go. For some reason that likely had to do with the warm and easy atmosphere between them, Castiel decided to stay.


	2. Unexpected Encounter

It had been half past two when Castiel had gotten a cab home. Which in itself was not an unusual time for him to be up, but it had never been because he spent the entire night out at a club. Specifically with Dean, who he had found to be not only attractive but appealingly warm and just a little bit of an enigma. He couldn’t help but want to find out more about the man, his thoughts and decisions and goals. He wanted to understand him, beneath the layers and walls. 

Dean’s smiles were varied, and Castiel could tell which were genuine and which were guarded. Some didn’t reach his eyes, just a quirk of the lips or a snarky comment. When Dean would get uncomfortable, he would change the subject and avert eye contact. A defense mechanism, Castiel realized. He had always been able to observe certain mannerisms and attribute them to emotional reactions. Stiff shoulders and crossed arms were signs of stress, of being defensive. He saw both of them that night, but he also picked up on the way Dean was leaning forward, body tilted and eyes glued. It was the most attention Castiel could ever recall getting from a stranger. 

He was interested, but guarded. Any time Castiel attempted to turn the conversation towards Dean the subject was carefully steered away. He only managed to find out that Dean was a musician and had recently moved to town. He talked proudly and warmly about his brother, however, and Castiel found out more about this ‘Sam’ than he expected. There was a proud glint in the man’s green eyes, though his smile seemed a little sad and fleeting as if something had happened between them. 

And in the hours that passed, he realized he had revealed a lot more to this stranger than he had to any other prior. There was just something warm and familiar about Dean, even behind the slightly rough exterior. Castiel found he wanted to crack that exterior open and learn Dean just as he wanted to learn his characters as they unveiled themselves beneath his fingers. 

He hadn’t gotten a number, and he fell onto his bed that night with that realization buzzing in his head. Dean had been the most gorgeous thing to fall into his life in years and he might never see the man again. It wasn’t like he frequented clubs, and he had a suspicion that whatever had brought Dean there wouldn’t happen a second time either. 

He groaned, leaving his clothes on and curling under the covers to let sleep distract him. It happened almost as soon as he closed his eyes, and yet his dreams were filled with freckled faces, green eyes, and slightly calloused fingers brushing against his own. 

 

The morning light poured through the slats in the blinds and fell warm and obnoxious on his face. It pressed against the back of his eyelids, bright and persistent and dragged him from the blissful dream that had enveloped him. In his slight post-sleep haze he heard the strumming of a guitar, the sound sweet and oddly relaxing. He hummed sleepily into his pillow, turning from the window to listen to the music he realized had to be coming from downstairs. 

At first he thought it was his neighbor playing a CD a bit too loudly, but after some time listening he realized the sounds were a certain part being played again and again. There would be a pause and then the same part played again. Occasionally he heard the twang of the strings being tuned and adjusted before a scale was played, or another part of the song. He didn’t recognize the song, but he enjoyed listening regardless. 

After a solid ten minutes he realized he would have to get up at some point. He never really liked mornings, and having a pounding headache did nothing to help matters. He rubbed his temples and grumbled a curse for Gabriel underneath his breath. He would have to call his brother later to find out why exactly he had disappeared, and whether or not it was worth it. And he would never be visiting a club again. 

He sat up slowly, looking at the clock and realizing it was eleven. The music had stopped and he sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair and grabbing the keys to check the mail. He had forgotten yesterday and he was hoping today would be the day he heard back from the latest publisher where he had sent his work. Momentarily overlooking the fact he was still wearing his clothes from last night and sporting an infamous example of bed head, Castiel headed downstairs to begin the not-so-morning ritual by getting the mail. 

They had small boxes, too small to fit anything larger than a standard envelope. So of course his letter was bent and stuffed in there carelessly, and he had to yank it out in order to free it from the small, metal prison. But there was an envelope in there from the publisher. He quickly opened it and pulled the letter out, heart beating erratically in his chest as he read his name at the top, and the following lines describing what he had sent in. As if he could forget. 

_And we regret to inform you…_

Another rejection letter. At least they were cordial. The letter crinkled in his hands as he clenched them, lips drawing into a thin line as he stared at the letter for a few more minutes, disappointment settling firm and heavy in his stomach once again. Regardless of how he had been taught to have a thick skin, having his work that he toiled over day and night for nearly a year constantly rejected was a stab to his pride. 

He turned sharply, not realizing someone had come in the door at the same time and they both made sounds of surprise on impact. Castiel dropped his keys and the letter, hand moving to the stranger’s shoulder to balance himself out of habit, eyes wide as he looked up to see who he had run into. 

Vibrant green eyes stared back at him in equal surprise, Dean’s hands out and frozen from where he had moved to try and help. Castiel could count the man’s freckles from here, the way the sun-kissed spots spread across his face. And in the daylight he realized that Dean’s eyes had changed color, they were lighter just like the color of his hair. _Like a child of summer._ Castiel thought quietly, eyes flicking downwards to the lips that parted slightly, drawing air that was very nearly shared between them. 

After a beat of silence, neither of them moving, Dean realized he was standing mere inches away and took a step backwards. Castiel’s eyes followed, catching the slight flush of color that stained Dean’s cheeks, however momentary. 

“Cas. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Dean’s eyes flicked downwards, taking in the rumpled clothing and messy hair and realizing that they were the same clothes from last night. Castiel must have realized the same thing because he stiffened, eyes wide as the warmth of embarrassment spread across his face and down his neck. 

“I live here.” Silently, Castiel hated the way his voice still sounded thick and rough from sleep. As if it weren’t already plainly obvious he had just woken up, almost afternoon, wearing the same clothes from last night and looking every bit a drunk. The impression he must have made. And as much as he wanted to see the man again, it certainly wouldn’t have been under these circumstances. 

Castiel felt like melting into the ground, disappearing and locking himself away in his apartment. Yet, he saw something like relief melt into Dean’s expression along with surprise and confusion. He didn’t get a chance to ask about it, because a woman made her way into the entrance as well, small, long blond hair, and carrying a box filled with clothing. She knocked her hip purposefully into Dean as she came inside. 

“I’m out here dragging in the stuff and you’re inside playing guitar and calmly chatting with the neighbors. How is that fair?” She shoved the box into Dean’s hands who took it with a huff, wincing at the glare leveled towards him. “You’re the one that signed the lease, not me. Now carry your stupid stuff inside already.” 

“It’s your stuff too, Jo,” Dean mumbled, shifting the box in his arms and rolling his eyes. He caught Castiel watching the two of them with confusion and smiled sheepishly. “This is Jo, and Jo this is Castiel. He lives here.” 

“Hi, Castiel.” Jo stuck out her hand and smiled, much warmer with him than she had been with Dean moments earlier. Castiel took her hand and nodded, still filled with slight uncertainty. 

“Which unit are you moving into?” Castiel asked, eyes flicking towards the box. If he had to guess, Jo must have been living with Dean as well. There were articles of women’s clothing in there, so either she was his roommate or—

“Unit three,” Dean replied, tilting his head towards the door heading in. “First floor. Jo thinks it’s a bad idea, something about not being safe or whatever. But hell, I’ll take first floor over stairs any day. The equipment is kinda heavy.” 

Unit three. Directly below him then—well that explained the sound of music. Dean must have been playing guitar before he came down. But that unit was a studio, he had toured it briefly when deciding to sign his own lease so he recalled the floor plan. And if Jo was moving in with him then she probably wasn’t just a roommate. 

“I see. Directly below me. Your music is really lovely, Dean.” Castiel smiled, though it was tight and small. What he had assumed to be an attractive man wanting to kindle something was nothing more than someone wanting to chat for a few hours. Nothing more than friendship then, it was no wonder he hadn’t received a phone number. 

“Awesome,” Dean’s face broke out into a bright smile, clearly excited about the turn of events. “Small world, huh? You should come down and hang out for a while, Cas.” Jo had already disappeared inside, shouting a goodbye to Castiel and Dean turned to follow. “See you around.” 

Castiel’s smile felt heavy on his face. As the door closed behind Dean, he stooped down to pick up his letter and the keys. He had been making assumptions, jumping to conclusions. This was real life, it wasn’t some fairy tale or movie that always had well-resolved endings. This was real life and it was filled with disappointment. He crumpled the rejection letter into a ball and threw it into the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The next chapter will be in Dean's point of view, and will cover some of his thoughts on Castiel as well as involve some more interaction. More scenes between them and action in general in the following chapters. Also, I promise this will be a Dean/Cas story in the end, even if it takes a bit to get there. ;) Thanks for the reviews and kudos, it really keeps me going!


	3. Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I've been dealing with some health problems. I love hearing from people though and the comments and kudos really make my day! Warnings for language in this chapter as it's in Dean's POV.

When Dean first saw the dark-haired stranger approach the bar with his slouched shoulders and downcast eyes, he had wondered what the hell someone who looked so uncomfortable was doing here in the first place. But he looked a little bit closer, noticing that in the dim lighting of the club the stranger’s profile was accentuated with a strong and stubbled jaw, long lashes and plush lips. As subtly as he could, Dean checked the way the shirt would stretch over the lines in his back as he leaned over to order a drink, and the arch of his spine all the way down to a really nice ass. 

Okay, so he had enough to drink by now to start to fantasize a little. The guy was tall, dark and gorgeous. He also looked incredibly uncomfortable, so Dean decided to throw caution to the wind and try and get the guy to strike up a conversation. The first time he saw those electric eyes turn towards him he froze in place. And of course the first words he heard out of the guy’s mouth were practically lost on him because that _voice_. Holy shit he was not expecting that. 

And if he felt a fluttering of arousal shoot straight south, no one had to know but him. It usually wasn’t his intention to pick up guys, or to flirt with them. Not that he wasn’t into them—because sometimes there was just someone he would love to have in his bed—but this just wasn’t the kind of town you could pick up guys. Not the right place either. 

Normally he didn’t come to places like this, because the douchey music they played wasn’t his style at all. But the bar closest to him had some kind of plumbing issue and the place was closed to get it fixed, and whatever he just really wanted a drink. It wasn’t like he knew the area, he was moving here from bum-fuck Kansas. The city wasn’t great, he didn’t care for it much, but it was good for musicians to get their start.

And despite the crappy atmosphere, he really enjoyed getting to know Castiel. He didn’t talk about himself much, because who the hell cares about a musician with practically no money to his name and family issues that ran deeper than the Grand Canyon? Cas wouldn’t want to talk to him if he knew what Dean was really like, so he tried to tell him as little as possible. 

He started out with the intention of getting Castiel in his bed that night, or maybe in the back of the Impala. But after a few minutes talking to the guy he thought a one-night stand was too cheap. Castiel deserved better than that. And fuck if his dick didn’t complain the whole night after he decided that. 

But life really hated Dean Winchester sometimes because he totally forgot to get Castiel's number. He had someone really interesting, someone incredibly hot, and he had let him get away. 

So when he ran into the guy in the entryway of the apartment he was moving into, he had to double-check and remind himself he wasn’t just imagining it. But no, it was the same guy from last night. No way he could mistake a face like that. Dean’s eyes moved from Castiel’s messy dark hair, to his almost inhumanly blue eyes, and his shirt with the top buttons undone and rumpled like he had just been fucked long and hard. 

Oh crap, they were standing like two inches apart. That wasn’t socially acceptable, was it? Dean hurriedly moved back, but he could feel the heat of want and embarrassment mingling colors in his face. Of course the first thought that came into his head was that Castiel had gone home with someone else. If he had thought logically that wouldn’t have made any sense because he had watched the guy leave. But when did logic ever break past the permanent barrier of worst-case scenarios? 

What he didn’t expect was to hear that Castiel lived here. In the building he was moving into. And what was more, he lived directly _above_ him. Maybe life didn’t hate him as much as he originally thought because what were the chances of that? He couldn’t help the relief from showing on his face, and probably would have continued off from where he had been last night until Jo came in, and she was wearing that expression the Harvelles shared that meant you didn’t mess with them. 

Probably wasn’t right to let her do all the work while he stopped to chat with his neighbor. Actually, it was more than ‘probably’—Jo wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass or threaten his Baby if he didn’t get back to work. 

“So, that's the guy you wouldn’t shut up about? The one from last night?” Jo smirked, opening the door and stepping inside the apartment, still filled with boxes of every shape and size. The first thing Dean had unpacked was his guitar, and he couldn’t help but start playing for just a bit since it was one of the few things that felt so right in his hands. It was home to him, along with the Impala, his cassettes (despite how many times he was ridiculed over them) and the well-worn photos he had of their mom. 

“I—how the hell did you know about that?” Dean turned wide, confused eyes on the slightly-younger woman. He loved Jo like a little sister, an annoying sister that seemed to know too much. 

“You spilled everything. Woke me up with your phone call at two in the morning. You’re lucky I’m helping you move in, Winchester.” Jo glared upwards, one hand resting on her hip in a way that was probably more threatening than it should have been. Mainly because he knew there was a line and the more he saw that specific pose, it meant he was crossing it. He didn’t really remember calling Jo but then he was probably a little too far under the influence of alcohol to realize what he had done. 

“Yeah well, some of it’s your stuff too.” Dean nudged the box he brought in filled with some sweaters and jeans and other things of the woman’s, stuff she liked having around if she crashed on the couch after one of their rehearsals. It had been something she’d been doing their whole lives, and yeah she was a beautiful woman and under any other circumstances he would have tried to hook up with her, but she was always there in his life as a constant presence, a great and supportive force to hold him up when he needed it. And he’d return the favor whenever he could. 

“Stuff you will _gladly_ accept into your apartment because I’m helping you move in. Is this the last of it?” She looked down at the box they had brought in, surrounded by many more haphazardly distributed around the apartment. 

“Yeah, think so. Jesus…this is gonna take forever to unpack.” Dean ran a hand over his mouth in frustration, looking at the piles of boxes all labeled and stacked like mini skyscrapers all over his apartment. At least the couch was there, and the bed. All of the floor space was covered. How did he end up accumulating so much stuff? 

“Don’t except me to help you with that. I’ve got plans tonight. Charlie said she’d fix my computer if I went to see some movie with her. We’ll probably get dinner too, so make yourself something.” 

“Am I expecting you tonight at like three in the morning again? ‘Cause I’m not getting up so you can just sleep in the hall.” 

“What kind of friend lets you sleep out in the hallway?” Jo scowled, punching his arm and none too lightly either. For the sake of his pride, Dean didn’t say that part out loud. 

“Fine, I’ll just stay there or maybe head home. Just remember we have practice tomorrow.” Jo turned to leave, but hesitated by the door and looked over pointedly at Dean. “Castiel would make good company. Maybe you should go pay him a visit.” There was more behind the suggestion than what was said, and Dean almost groaned at the little smile on her face. 

“Whatever. Get out of here, Jo.” Dean started closing the door on her, despite her protests and shout of ‘you’re _welcome_!’ through the door. 

He debated for a while about actually doing it or just staying here and unpacking the boxes. But after two of them he got bored, tossed the empty ones aside and made his way up the stairs, stopping at the apartment directly above him. It wasn’t that large of a complex, there were only eighteen units, all tiny and full of 1920s charm. At least that’s what the property manager had explained when showing him the place. He didn’t really care about charm, or hardwood floors and country kitchens. He wanted a place to be able to play his guitar, and a place to crash at night when he was tired. 

Jo thought the place was cute, and for whatever reason she ended up picking this one over the dozens of others they had seen. He would have settled for the first—it had a bedroom and it had four walls and a roof. But even though she wasn’t even signing the contract, Jo decided she knew what was best for him or whatever. 

Dean knocked on the door, double-checking it was the right one and not one over or something. Jo was gone, might as well try his luck. Hell, the woman had practically told him to do something about the incredibly hot upstairs neighbor and if he didn’t, he knew she would. 

After several long minutes of silence on the other end of the door, Dean wondered if Castiel hadn’t gone out or something. Not that he pegged the guy for being real adventurous, since he seemed so uncomfortable at the club. He wasn’t really talking with anyone either. But it was eight at night, so maybe the guy went to bed early or something?

He was just about to turn and leave when the door opened, and a very wet Castiel was standing in the doorway, just a sliver of him visible from where the chain allowed a view into his apartment. He must have just gotten out of the shower because he still had the towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips. And he had _lethal_ hipbones. Dean couldn’t help but bring his eyes down the line of the man’s body like a roadmap, watching the little rivulets of water disappear behind the towel. 

His eyes snapped up after a moment that felt both too long and painfully short. Castiel looked startled, one hand on the towel and the other on the door. 

“Dean. May I help you with something?” The shock was slowly fading to confusion and Dean was almost certain that Castiel had hurried out of the shower to answer the door. He probably didn’t even realize how incredibly pornographic he looked right now, especially after that line.

Oh shit, Winchester. Get your thoughts out of the gutter. 

“I uh—was just wondering if you…wanted to come down for a while? Y’know, hang out or…something. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your shower.” It was a Herculean task to keep his eyes firmly planted on Castiel’s face and not venture downwards. 

_Didn’t mean to interrupt it, but if you want to get back in there, I’d be glad to join you._

He was definitely going to have plenty of quality time later tonight with these images in his head. Definitely later. Right now he was supposed to be neighborly and not freak the guy out. Neighborly, right. 

“You weren’t interrupting.” Castiel looked down at his appearance, shuffling slightly behind the door and holding the towel tighter as he realized how very naked he was at the moment. He didn’t slam the door and Dean counted that a success. But there was a long and awkward silence and it seemed neither of them knew how to break it. 

Maybe Castiel didn’t want to hang out. Maybe being at the club was one thing and butting into personal life was entirely different. Maybe he had read this whole thing wrong. Cas might not even be interested in him that way and this could have been an assumption that led to a big mistake. 

Dean didn’t want to leave and Castiel didn’t want to close him out. The sound of someone opening their door down the hallway brought him back to the present. He put on his best charming smile, the one that usually got him a slightly larger slice of pie or a free drink at the bar. He hoped Cas wasn’t immune.

“I will have to get dressed. I don’t suppose your—Jo would appreciate me coming over like this.” Castiel stumbled over the word he couldn’t quite say, Dean didn’t pick up on the thought Jo was more than a friend. 

“Nah, she totally would. But she’s not here tonight. Went out with a friend.” Dean shrugged, not sure if that would make it awkward between them since they’d be alone in the apartment. But Castiel seemed relieved if anything. 

“I’ll go wait downstairs then.” Dean grinned, and he tried really hard to tone down his enthusiasm. Cas was gorgeous but he probably just wanted to hang out, have a beer or something. But even if that was the case, he’d still get to learn some more about the man. It probably should have freaked him out a little that he was so weirdly and suddenly drawn to the guy since they only met the night before, but he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something comfortable and _right_ about being near him. 

Alright, probably time to rein in the chick-flicky thoughts before that got out of control. That was way more dangerous than thinking about sex. 

Before he could do or say anything else he turned to head downstairs. He heard the door close behind him and had to force himself to stay away from thoughts of Cas dropping that towel to the floor, still wet and smelling of soap and whatever shampoo he used. He was a lot more in shape than Dean gave him credit for, even if he had only seen a sliver of chest from the crack in the door. It didn’t take much imagination to picture him spread out on the bed, flushed with exertion and arousal, hands gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white as he moaned Dean’s name in that fucking sinful voice—

Oh _hell_. Dean stopped in front of his door realizing he was already half hard, and banged his elbow in his hurry to get inside. 

This was going to be a long day.


End file.
